


Starship

by cthchewy (pyrrhic_victoly)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sgrub Session, M/M, eridan (slowly) learns to be less of a douche
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-26 18:26:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3860101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrrhic_victoly/pseuds/cthchewy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eridan's gotten all he's ever wanted - recognition from the Empress and a coveted post on the Battleship Condescension.  He had to cast aside most of his wigglerhood hatefriends to get there, but it's a troll eat troll world out there and he's gotta look after himself first.  It's stupid that he should be so hung up over them.</p><p>Then the Battleship Condescension starts hitting on him.  Yes, the ship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Starship

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry, I should be working on a bunch of other things first, but this has been sitting on my computer for so long I was gonna go crazy if I didn't post it. So yeah. It's a thing now.

_The genius of any slave system is found in the dynamics which isolate slaves from each other, obscure the reality of a common condition, and make united rebellion against the oppressor inconceivable._

            - Someone, I think it was Troll Adam Sandler

 

* * *

 

Our Empress arose from sea to galaxy.  She sails ever onward through eternity.  Our Empress is mighty, our Empress is strong.  Order and Justice be thine, dear Empress.

Hail, hail all ye trolls Her Condescension, she who shines brighter than the sun.  She who Lights the path through the stars.  She who will lead trollkind to glory everlasting.  Dominion is hers, throughout all Time, across all Space, over all Life.  In her service we find Hope to spread civilization through the Void.  Her righteous Rage casts Doom upon our foes.  Our Hearts and Minds to her belong.  She is our Breath, our Blood. 

Hail, hail all ye trolls Her Condescension, she who shines brighter, more unyielding than the sun.

The gathered trolls stand ramrod straight, chanting lines memorized from their earliest schoolfeedings.  Eridan is among them, though he takes his rightful place in the front among his seadweller peers.  He lifts his chin in a prideful jut as he surveys the surroundings from the corners of his eyes.

They are gathered here, all the trolls who've come of age this sweep, in the Conscription Dome, better known colloquially as the Culling Grounds.  It's a gigantic circular structure, part amphitheater and part marina.  The concentric rings around the spaceship docks in the center are filled to the brim with trolls separated by blood color.  Rusts line the outer edge and then bronzes and golds and so on up the hemospectrum until the violet seadwellers who preside over the inner circle.  Her Condescension will be greeted by a literal rainbow of her subjects…

If she were to arrive, which she will not.

It has been sweeps upon sweeps since the Empress deigned to return from her conquests.  The swath she cut across the Universe led her so far away from the home world that she had not physically set foot on the planet in over a lowblood's entire lifespan.  (Or two, or three.  Sweeps and sweeps, thousands of sweeps she has been gone.)  New Alternia VI is the closest she comes now, and then only to restock supplies and crew members before setting off in another direction.  Everywhere she goes, she subjugates the native species and plants a small troll colony in charge of their new slaves.  When they are finished establishing New Alternia VII, she'll be on average another hundred light sweeps away.

It's gotten to the point where some of the elders on the Fleetwide Net (which Eridan has only recently been granted access to) have started suggesting that they install Mother Grubs on the largest colonies - those similar enough to the home world to have earned the name of New Alternia.  There are concerns that slurry contributions from the farther colonies will no longer be viable after such long journeys in the drone ships.  Transportalizer technology is too new and limited to be used for trucking metric tons of _slurry_ , of all things.  There are further concerns that cryogenically freezing lowblood deployments as they have been doing will become too much of a drain on resources.  Trolls as a species are headed into their greatest era yet, and it is time they spread their young across multiple nests.

Eridan breathes in, thinking of how lucky he is to be alive during what will definitely be some of the more interesting parts of future history books, and he puffs out his chest a little more.  Overhead, the Diplomatic Emisserrator's ship sails into view.  It hovers above them, adjusting thrusters for landing, its hum deafening as it slowly lands in the very center.  In moments, the entire Conscription Dome is cast into shadow as ships come in from all around.  None are bigger than the first, but the sheer swarm of them is still a sight to behold.  Eridan had always loved seeing the ships come in; he would ride his lusus to get a better view.  But there is no better view than from directly underneath them, their size and number making one feel at once an insignificant speck and also an important part of the greatest force the universe will ever know.

The ships dock, but still there are more surrounding the Dome, waiting in the airspace to take their turn.  This first set of ships will recruit mostly seadwellers to be trained for navigator duties.  A subjugglator training vehicle has also landed among them.  When they have taken their pick and left for the skies again, the second set will come in to recruit for the Ruffiannihilators, Hunterrorists, Threshecutioners, Archeradicators and the like.  Medicullists, Legislacerators, Helmscolumn candidates and other specialized support staff are chosen in the third wave along with the mostly low-blooded corps such as the mounted Cavalreapers and suicidal Pawnukes.  Rusts live such short lives anyway, Eridan thinks.  If they're healthy but not skilled enough riders to be Cavalreapers, they might as well strap bombs to themselves and go out in a blaze of glory, shouting "For the Empire!" like in the movies. 

And everyone else who didn't make the cut?  Well, that's why they call this place the Culling Grounds.  Sometimes the Subjugglator ship actually stays to watch the Drones "get their mirthful festivities on", or so he's read.  Many of Alternia's finest artworks have been created on Conscription Day.  He shudders to think of classical Musclebeast nudes being painted with the blood of thousands of failed recruits.

Though he personally finds it distasteful to revel in their deaths as the cultists do, Eridan can't bring himself to care much for the fate of the faceless masses.  Intellectually, he knows that many of the undernourished wigglers who'll be culled today got to be this way because he orphaned them, but it's still their fault for being too weak to hunt enough for themselves.  Vriska, for example - she took care of herself just fine without _her_ lusus coddling her every step of the way.  Even Sollux got by while actually having to wiggler-sit his retarded lusus instead of the other way around, and this on top of being a lowblood with little to no resources to his name that he didn’t take for himself.  That's at least twice the difficulty of being a regular orphan, and yet he managed.  Anyone who couldn't do half of that _deserved_ to get culled.

Eridan's current train of thought leads him to think of his other friends and if they will make it.  He'll never admit it, but his vascular pump system squeezes as he thinks of Karkat whom he parted with on bad terms, basically "Fine, you massive fishdouche, go do that then," from Karkat, and "Fine, you fucking draft dodger, stay and get culled," from himself.  And his cold blood is ice in his throat when he thinks of Tavros, who wanted to take his chances with Karkat, stating that his prosthetics were still shaky and he would be culled for disability. 

He thinks of Feferi who has no choice but to remain with Gl'bgolyb until a new heiress is born.  Then she will ascend to challenge the Condesce, and she will fail as they all have.  Gl'bgolyb will mourn the death of yet another daughter, but the Rift Carbuncle will have another baby Tyrian to care for, and it will do much to mitigate the sting of Feferi's demise.  Even though they are no longer quadranted, he pities her for the hand fate has dealt her.

Eridan's mind quiets with the atmosphere around him.  With a barely audible hiss, the main doors of the Diplomatic Emisserrator's ship slide open and a violet-blood descends, flanked by blue-blooded guards.  The Diplomatic Emisserrator is a tall, slender troll; her eyes and lips are painted in her blood color, which is a tad more lavender than Eridan's own.  She walks down regally as a princess should and slowly casts her eyes around only the innermost circle of recruits.

The violets around Eridan shift a bit in anticipation.  They are all royalty and all guaranteed coveted spots in the fleet save for the few true fuckups, but there is a _ritual_ to these things, and an indescribable pride to being “first among the stars”, first chosen among one's sweepmates.

She calmly makes the round, briefly making eye contact with each young prince or princess she passes.  She stops in front of Eridan and his breath stops too.

"What is your name, young Aquarius?"

Somehow, Eridan's body manages to perform a proper military salute.  It's muscle memory at this point, considering how often he's drilled for it.  "Eridan Ampora, ma'am."

This time, as the Diplomatic Emisserrator speaks, she presses the microphone chip on her collar and broadcasts the message through the dome.  "Her Condescension personally thanks Prince Ampora for his sweeps of service in providing for Her Condescension's lusus, Gl'bgolyb, Emissary to the Horrorterrors."  She smiles at him; Eridan almost misses her next words for the sound of blood rushing through his ears.  "The Battleship Condescension has taken its first pick."

"Yes ma'am!"

 

* * *

 

\-- Welcome to Fleetwide Net --

\-- Please Enter Your Name --

==> Eridan Ampora

\-- Please Enter Your Password --

==> *********

\-- Password Accepted --

\-- Contacting Satellite Navigation Command Station Prime --

\-- Establishing Contact... --

\-- Establishing Contact... --

\-- Connection Complete --

\-- Junior Navigarroter Eridan Ampora [EA] has contacted SatNav Tech Sollux Captor [SC] \--

EA: howws the neww job?

SC: are you 2hiitiing me?  of cour2e iit'2 fuckiing awe2ome.  2atnav ii2 hand2 down the be2t place two work.  fiieldiing call2 and remote tech 2upport 2hiit take2 up le22 than half of my proce22iing power.  iit'2 been le22 than a periigee and ii can do that 2tuff iin my 2leep.  ii programmed my braiin to handle it a2 background proce22e2 2o ii ba2iically get paiid two hang out on the iinterweb2 all day trolliing noob2 and watchiing lolgrub2 vid2.

EA: wwell youre wwelcome

SC: 2hut up.

EA: so ungrateful to your savvior after all its not like i pulled any strings to get you outta the helmscolumn or anythin

SC: ii'm grateful, fii2hface.  but your trawliing for compliiment2 ii2 ju2t annoyiing.

SC: needy biitch.

EA: fuck you too sol fuck you all night long if you knoww wwhat i mean

SC: omg plea2e ju2t cull me.  only you could draiin me of my maniic hiigh iin one 2entence, ED, only you.

EA: anythin for you babe

EA: <3<

SC: *long 2ufferiing 2iiiiiiiiiigh*

SC: fuckiing needy fii2hbiitch. 

EA: is it so hard to send your kismesis a lil spade when he sends one to you

SC: who ever heard of kii2me2e2 2endiing cute2y emote2 two each other except out of viiciiou2 pa22iive aggre22iive 2piite.  only the 2hiitiie2t troll ever hatched would try goiing piitch-pale... oh waiit, that’2 you, what the hell el2e wa2 ii expectiing.

SC: for the record, that mean2 ii'm not pappiing you, not ever.

EA: wwoww wway to suck all a my wwell meanin romantic gestures dryer than a rainboww drinkers meal husk...

SC: riide my bulge2

EA: not an insult when youre the one beggin for it

SC: hang on, fiive call2 ju2t came iin at once.  bet they need me two remote iinto theiir 2y2tem2 two fiix 2tupiid priinter jam2.

EA: or take control a their ships navv because they don't knoww howw to fuckin dodge meteors?

SC: that two.

\-- SatNav Tech Sollux Captor v[SC] is inactive --

 

The pause in the conversation allows Eridan to let out the breath he hadn’t even known he was holding.  At least it’s confirmed that some things in his life are still constant, even if it’s just the hateability of Sollux Captor, mutant pissblood piece of shit that he is.

It felt right at the time for Eridan to save his quadrantmate.  After all, helmsmen don’t get quadrants, and why would he want to lose a perfectly horrid kismesis who could be saved with only a bit of throwing his influence around?  Now Sollux owes him, which puts Eridan ahead in their eternal rivalry.  All the better.

Eridan isn’t a selfless troll; he never was and never will be.  He doesn’t want to kill all the landdwellers anymore, but he doesn’t care for trolls outside of the small – and dwindling still – number of hatefriends he has left.  There’s no one to blame for most of it, really.  Sometimes wigglers just grow up to find that there are irreconcilable differences between them in their adult lives.  Like Kanaya, for instance, who had to be left behind on the home world because that was what her bloodcaste demanded.  There’s just no practical way to keep up a friendship with someone stuck in the Brooding Caverns, what with their severely restricted net access down there.

Then there are the other cases which are clearly someone else’s fault.  Eridan refuses to be guilted into thinking that there was somehow something wrong with his own behavior towards certain trolls who shall not be named.  That hemoanonymity bullshit is such a pupa's game, and to stay on Alternia means running from the Culling Drones for the rest of his goddamned life.  And dragging Tavros down with him, how low could he go? 

Tav had more of a chance of being culled for his personality defect than for his disability!  Why couldn’t they see that his psychic powers would have use for the Fleet?  Lowblood psychics are a dime a dozen, sure, and those who can commune with beasts are common as well.  But _none_ of them have been so powerful as Tav; not since the days of the Summoner had there been someone whose communion skills were so strong that they could possibly control entire alien species.  His powers are limited to non-trolls, and it was only because of his own fear that he insisted he couldn't commune with intelligent trolloid species.  Hell, if he was useful enough, the Condesce herself might even have extended his pathetic lowblood lifespan like she’s been known to do for her favorites.  He could have be the Empire's ultimate slave-maker if only he had tried.

But he didn’t, and now there is only culling in his future, if he is even still alive.  Whose fault is that?  The anonymous bastard who preached at him, talked him into it?  Their higher-blooded “friends” who enabled this treasonous thinking?  It certainly wasn’t Eridan’s.

Before Eridan can stop himself, he’s typing a message to Sollux’s idle screen.

 

EA: i used to think kar was kinda pale for me

 

Idiot!  Unloading his baggage onto his kismesis…  It’s like Sollux said, only the worst troll would try going pitch-pale, and is he really that desperate for quadrants that he’ll go 2-for-1 because he’s out of other trolls to hook up with?  It’s like he’s six sweeps old all over again.

Eridan fiddles around with the chat client, trying to find a way to erase the message before Sollux can see it.  It’s too late, though, as the bulgeblister’s icon lights back up.

 

SC: but kk's pale for gz

EA: i knoww so i thought about it an ive come to the conclusion that its all gams fault

SC: wtf how the hell diid you get to 2uch a dumba22 conclu2iion

EA: fuckin sopored up piece a clowwn shit couldnt make like a proper highblood an keep his moirail an matesprit in line thats howw

EA: theyre his quadrants an his responsibility as the highest blood among them an he failed them so

EA: seriously just...

EA: fuck that guy

SC: ...

SC: you’re a huge a22hole, you know that?  liike 2o biig the ghb’2 bulge would get lo2t iin there.

SC: u2 lowblood2 2tiill have agency iin our miind2 no matter what kiind of 2hiit get2 done to our bodiie2.  don’t you ever forget that.

\-- SatNav Tech Sollux Captor [SC] has left the conversation –-

 

He left.  He didn’t log off.   _He can never log off._  The thought is, admittedly, a bit terrifying.  It’s still the best, most comfortable option for a psionic: better than hard labor or honey harvesting. Certainly better than being in the helm. 

Eridan feels a small bit of sympathy welling up in his chest.  He crushes it swiftly.  What the fuck is Sollux whining about, anyway?  The life Eridan secured for him is _golden_ , pun-fuckin'-intended.  Must have been trying to push their relationship further in the black.

 

* * *

 

CG: DID YOU GET IT IN?

TA: duh, what do you take me for, a 2criipt kiiddy liike your2elf?

CG: HA FUCKING HA. THIS IS SO NOT THE TIME FOR HATEFLIRTING.

CG: REMEMBER, YOU HAVE TO BE PREPARED TO LET HIM GO IF HE WON’T CHANGE HIS MIND.  WE CAN’T WASTE TIME ON HIM.  ON ANY OF THEM.  IF THEY’RE NOT WITH US, THEY’RE AGAINST US.

TA: ii fuckiing know, ok?  ii'll turn iinto that awful fuck who kiill2 hii2 kii2me2ii2 iif ii have two.

CG: I REALLY HOPE IT DOESN’T COME TO THAT.

TA: me two.

 

* * *

 

There’s a worm in {Junior Navigarroter Eridan Ampora [EA]}’s husktop.  You know because it’s your job to know everything that goes on in the Battleship Condescension’s processors.  You _are_ the Battleship Condescension’s processors.

You are the {Helmsman}.  You are a starship.

The infection entered EA’s computing device 14:00 hours ago, during a seemingly innocuous conversation with his kismesis, {Satnav Tech Sollux Captor [SC]}. A conversation like this would never have garnered your attention if it weren’t for the fact that SC has your wetware component’s shade of yellow.

In a distant corner of your personal processes allocation, you think, GODFUCKIING DAMMIIT, WIIGLER.  II’M SORRY YOU HAD TWO BEE HATCHED.


End file.
